


Literally

by ariannenymerosmartell (somethingmoo)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Azor Ahai, Crack Fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 17:37:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11833692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingmoo/pseuds/ariannenymerosmartell
Summary: Jon fulfills the prophecy and becomes Azor Ahai in a way he did not expect to.





	Literally

Prophecy is determined to make even the greatest of men look like the greatest of fools. 

Tormund tells Jon this this after he rises, after the Red Woman brings him back. After everyone is pleased that his eyes are still a deep, dark grey and not an eerie blue. 

Tormund repeats it to him, the day the dragon arrives, green and gold and staring up at Jon with what can only be described as reverence. 

Tormund says it again when the Dragon Queen arrives just days later, atop a dragon blacker than sin, with the Imp atop a third in cream and gold in tow. 

She had looked as perplexed as Jon had been when the first dragon had arrived, and then abruptly her vision had cleared, with a softly uttered _oh_. 

He and Dany (though sometimes the simple name still trips up on his tongue) grow closer after she tells him of her vision of the blue rose in the wall. After she tells him, a little tearfully, that he has a nose like Viserys, and that the dragon, _his_  dragon’s name is _Rhaegal._

“He must have sired you on Lady Lyanna,” is how Daenerys phrases it, and Jon loves her for it there and then.   


She doesn’t say father, because that word belongs to Eddard Stark, and she more than anyone has learned there’s a difference between a _father_  and the man who sired you, and she calls his mother _lady_  and gives her all the courtesy in the world. 

He loves her for it dearly, and he grows to love her more when she teaches him how to ride Rhaegal, only laughing at him once when he topples off sideways before Rhaegal has even spread his wings. 

He loves her when she bends down and gathers Ghost into her arms and breathes into his fur and calls him “sweet boy,” though Ghost is near her size. 

He knows it is useless to love her though. She is a Queen, and he is still a bastard besides, and she is _family_ , which is why it is all the more embarrassing when Melisandre begins to insist that he is Azor Ahai and must therefore acquire the sword of heroes. 

“You must find your Nissa Nissa” is what Melisandre says to him and Dany in his tent one night.  


They are far up North, where the cold makes breathing a near impossible task, and surely the small retinue of men and women warriors, free folk, black brothers, Dothraki, and Essosi alike, that had accompanied them on their task would have frozen to death were it not for the constant fires the three dragons produced. 

He is baffled. 

He has died and has been raised, controls a direwolf and a dragon, and still it is not enough to drive the Others back. 

He needs the sword of heroes, and for that he needs a Nissa Nissa, but Jon cannot imagine plunging Longclaw into the heart of anyone he loved. 

The only person who fits the bill of the type of love Melisandre describes when she tells him and Dany the tale is _Arya_  and Jon would rather let the Others have all of Westeros than to drive a blade through her heart. 

He pointedly refuses to think that he might love Dany that way, thinking the point moot, as he would not thrust Longclaw into her either. 

“You need it for the battle, my King,” Melisandre intones direly, as she makes her leave, casting one last long look at him and Dany. She makes a face that Jon cannot decipher.   


When she is gone and the tent flap closes with a snap, Jon sinks into a seat, buries his face in his hands, and groans, forgetting Dany still standing there.

She makes an amused huff. 

“My King _and_  Azor Ahai? Mayhaps Melisandre aims to be your Nissa Nissa.”  


Jon’s head snaps up and he begins to stumble out apologies. 

“She doesn’t mean it like that, my Queen,” he manages to get out before Daenerys is laughing loudly.   


“Relax, Jon,” she says through giggles. “I take no offense. I’d want a man who’d risen from the dead, rode dragons, and fought back devils for my King too.”   


She gives him a smile, that Jon returns, and he marvels, not for the first time, at her ability to always say the right thing. 

“Technically, the same can be said of you,” he tells her. “Do you love her intensely? Maybe you can try stabbing her with a sword.”   


Dany giggles again, and the sound fills Jon with joy, until she singsongs wickedly, “It’s _your_  sword she wants, Jon.”

He feels himself blushing beet red. He has to look away, sure that Daenerys will laugh even more at the sight of his flushed face, but he doesn’t hear her laughter and instead hears her move closer to him.

When he looks up again, she is standing closer to him, staring at him, blushing herself, toying with the tie of her tunic. 

“I can’t quite blame her,” Dany says and tugs the ties loose until her tunic falls open, revealing her breasts to Jon.  


“W-what?” He stammers out, unable to think of anything else to say because the sight of Daenerys’s breasts are so lovely, it has robbed him of his ability to speak. Or think. 

Dany is blushing too, Jon notes, entranced by the way the rose pink shade spreads across her chest.

He wrenches his eyes away to look at her face, and finds the rose pink flush there as well. 

“You’re not very observant, are you?” She says, trying for mocking but her voice trembles a bit. “I am used to men throwing themselves at me to win my favor, but you’ve barely taken notice of me throwing myself at you.”   


Jon is about to ask her if she’s gone mad, that he certainly would have noticed if Dany was throwing herself at him, or giving him any hit at all, really, that she wanted him, until he remembers the number of times he’d walked in on her in a bath, despite being told she was dressed and waiting, or the number of times she’d taken his arm, or hand and rested it on her lap. 

“Huh,” is what he says and now Dany does roll her eyes.   


“I’m standing nearly naked in front of you, and you manage a _huh?”_

“I didn’t--- I don’t,” Jon says eloquently, torn between looking at her face and at her breasts, and Dany sighs, grabs his hand, and places it on her chest.   


“I don’t love Melisandre,” she says, but Jon can barely hear her, because he can feel her heart beating wildly against his palm. “I quite think I’m in love with you.”   


He stares at her then. Really stares at her. Notices for the first time that her eyes are shaped like his, and it should be strange, but it’s the furthest thing from it. 

“Oh good,” he manages. “I quite think I might be in love with you too.”  


Daenerys grabs him by the back of his head and pulls his mouth to hers. Kissing her, with his hand on her breast feels like heaven, and now that he knows he can have it, all Jon wants is _more_. 

He divests her of her breeches, the same as she is pulling his off, and Jon wants all the time in the world to taste every inch of her, but Dany’s insistent hands are stroking his length and she’s biting his ear and muttering _in me, now Jon, in me_. 

Jon’s never been the type to disobey that kind command. 

She hops up onto the table and spreads her legs wide and guides him into her, and moans so sweetly when he’s fully seated in her that he almost spills there and then. 

He catches himself. Slows his hips to a gentle roll, and when she whines, he brings his fingers down and rubs quick circles under her nub. 

It isn’t long before she is panting, dripping wetness around him, begging him for _harder_ , and _faster,_ and Jon obliges every command, fingers frantically rubbing her clit, until Dany comes apart around him with a scream he’s sure will bring the Others down around them. 

He spends himself a moment later, reluctantly pulling out of her. She slides forward on the table, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him lazily, holding him close.

He brings his hands to her hips, reveling in the warmth of her skin and the softness of her mouth, until she pulls away and gasps. 

“What?” Jon jumps, and tuns expecting to see an Other inside the tent, but instead he finds Longclaw.   


Glowing. 

“What?” He asks dumbly again, as Dany hops off the table and strides toward the sword.   


“It’s hot!” She says, waving her hands over the blade. “Look, come feel.”   


He walks over and places his hand just above the sword, amazed to feel the heat rising off it. 

“ _How_?” Jon asks, wondering what it means and what it might be a sigh of, when Dany begins to laugh wildly next to him.   


“Oh gods,” Dany says. “It was never literal.”   


“ _What?”_ Jon says, for the third time, Ygritte’s voice echoing _you know nothing_ in his head.   


“The prophecy wasn’t literal,” Daenerys says, tears of laughter leaking from her eyes. “As it turns out, I’m your Nissa Nissa.”   


Jon stares at her, baffled. He’s sure his mouth is gaping. Nothing makes sense, although words like _impale_  and _thrust_  start to dance in his head and...

No. No, that couldn’t be right. 

“No,” he tells her. “That’s not. No.”   


“Well, if you want to get technical,” Dany says, still laughing. “I did bare my breast to you. And then you thrust--”   


“NO.” Jon says, loudly, and only slightly high-pitched. “That can’t--”   


But the proof is there, glowing in front of him, Longclaw’s blade lit up like a flame. 

“Prophecy is so fickle,” Dany says, wonderingly. “Everything was true. There was a scream of ecstasy and then--”   


“Please stop,” Jon begs, horrified. “I-- this is-- _everyone will know_.”   


“Jon, the sword is practically on fire. Of course everyone will know that you’re Azor Ahai!”   


“Yes, but they’ll also know...” he waves at them both and their states of undress.   


“The sex? You’re worried they’ll know we had _sex?”_ Dany guffaws. “You’re more worried about what people will say about us fucking than you are about being Azor Ahai, aren’t you?” 

“Tormund--” he starts, but Dany cuts him off.   


 “Jon, I mean to take you for my King. They’ll know then.”   


Before Jon can respond, Tormund’s voice booms outside the tent. 

“Begging an audience King Snow,” he says, laughter in every syllable.   


Jon gestures to Dany to right her clothing and he does likewise quickly before calling for Tormund to come in. 

It takes Tormund all of a minute. 

He eyes Jon, eyes, Dany and then the sword and then bellows in laughter. 

“You let _him_  stick you, girl?!”   


Jon blushes, but Dany laughs, almost gleefully. 

_She’s enjoying this_ , he thinks, and then almost smiles. _Ygritte, and Val, and Arya would have laughed as well_. 

“I never would have expected you to be the kind to enjoy pretty maidens,” Tormund tells Dany.  


“Only if they’re prettier than I am,” Dany replies and bats her lashes at Jon.   


“Did you treat him gently?” Tormund asks, barely able to get the words out for laughing. “It’s been eons since he used that stunted little thing. Thought it might have fallen off in the cold.”   


“How is it,” Jon interrupts loudly, determined to nip the conversation in the bud before the two of them begin sharing details about his naked form. “that I have the flaming sword of heroes and _still_  you mock me?”   


He glares at Tormund who smirks back at him. 

“What did I tell you, King Snow? Prophecy is determined to make the greatest of men look like the greatest of fools.”   



End file.
